


where the light dwells

by FunAndWhimsy



Series: into the dawn [3]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blow Jobs, Double Penetration, Established Relationship, F/M, Happy Ending, M/M, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Post-Black Eagles Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Teasing, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:00:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22836661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FunAndWhimsy/pseuds/FunAndWhimsy
Summary: Simply by virtue of being both Emperor and in love, Ferdinand asks a lot of Bernadetta. And though he can manage most of it, especially with Hubert's help, though he can keep the late nights and long meetings and requests for her public appearances to a minimum, there are some things he cannot avoid. The royal wedding is sure to be an overwhelming affair; expectations are high, and the guest list grows ever larger. But with some creative scheduling and a long weekend at Garreg Mach, perhaps Ferdinand and Hubert can give her the quiet, intimate affair she deserves.
Relationships: Bernadetta von Varley/Hubert von Vestra, Ferdinand von Aegir/Bernadetta von Varley, Ferdinand von Aegir/Bernadetta von Varley/Hubert von Vestra, Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Series: into the dawn [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1625716
Comments: 7
Kudos: 76





	where the light dwells

The night is pitch-dark but Ferdinand knows his way around this room so well he manages not to stub a single toe as he makes his way to the nearest lantern. It is unseasonably warm but the air still feels cool against his skin in comparison to the warmth he left behind in bed, the sweltering heat created by three bodies and enough blankets to keep even Hubert warm, and he shrugs into his dressing gown as soon as there is enough light to see by.

Ferdinand is a sound sleeper, often going so far as to wear himself out on the training grounds after supper if he is not sure he is tired enough to truly rest, so the sight he is greeted with when he turns towards the bed is a rare one for him. Bernadetta, so calm in her sleep, where anxiety can only reach her in dreams and is easy enough to soothe away with the press of bodies and a few sleepy murmurs, wrapped up in Hubert's miles of arms and legs, warm and content. And Hubert who so often comes to bed in the wee hours of the morning and rises before anyone else, who tosses and turns if given the space to, at rest for once, all the weary lines of him softened in sleep and the merest ghost of a smile on his lips. They have not yet moved to take Ferdinand's vacant place, and it would be so easy to slip back under the blankets and join them once again in that warm, peaceful little bubble.

But he resists, though it takes all the considerable willpower at his disposal. There are more important matters to attend to, tonight, and soon enough he will have to rouse his sleeping loves as well. So he turns away and sets about his tasks, starting by sending for tea and coffee with his apologies even though the staff was warned about the odd hours the Emperor would be keeping tonight. That done, he carefully packs up the clothes everyone set out the night before, handling the black bag containing Bernadetta's newest dress with a reverent gentleness. There is a small pile of correspondence on his desk and he looks it over one last time, ensuring everything there can wait until after this short trip is over, and he is just finishing when there is a quiet knock on the door and one of the kitchen staff enters with their tray. Ferdinand thanks her, slips a few coins into her hand for her extra trouble, and returns to the bedroom.

Bernadetta wakes slowly, shifting towards Ferdinand's fingers combing through her hair and his lips against her forehead and murmuring a soft complaint before her eyes open. She blinks at him for a moment, bringing him into focus, and smiles a sweet, sleepy smile he will never tire of.

"Already?" she asks, and he kisses her forehead again.

"I am afraid so," he says. "You will have to complain to the man who scheduled our departure."

She laughs a little, so quietly Ferdinand can scarcely hear her, and turns in Hubert's arms to do just that. Hubert is not so easy to gentle awake; he is a light sleeper, constantly alert even in unconsciousness, and at the brush of Bernadetta's lips he startles, eyes open, fully awake in an instant.

"There is coffee," Ferdinand says, "and Bernie is very cross with you."

"I'm not," she says, never any good at this particular game. "Just sleepy."

" _Very_ cross," Ferdinand says, and Hubert rolls his eyes before kissing them both and clambering out of bed in search of his precious coffee. He is singleminded enough in his mission he does not stop to dress, and Ferdinand's eyes follow him around the room, all his long lines and pale skin and the stark contrast of his scars, pink from injuries taken and black from the cost of his magic. He is so beautiful, and so rarely presents himself to be admired like this; Ferdinand spares a glance at Bernadetta to see she is as taken as he is with the sight. How very lucky they both are.

Hubert gets his coffee, and prepares Bernadetta her overly-sweetened cup, and Ferdinand has his tea, and they sip in relative silence while everyone wakes up. And soon enough it is time to go, to shoulder their packs and make their way to the stables. Petra is there, as bright and alert as if it's the middle of the day, and she has her own wyvern and a pegasus for Ferdinand all saddled and ready to go.

"Good morning!" she says, as if it is anything near morning; she has been staying at the palace for the last week and Ferdinand often finds her awake, having breakfasted and trained already, when he rises at what most tell him is an absurdly early time. 

"Or good night," he says, and begins piling their bags on a second wyvern already carrying Petra's and a number of supplies. Petra helps him strap them down, and then mounts her wyvern, holding out a hand to help someone up behind her; Ferdinand nudges Bernadetta forward though he knows she likes to cuddle up behind him when they fly. Hubert prefers not to have to admit it, but he has a fear of flying, and the wyvern will be much too rough a ride for him.

"Bernie," Petra says, while Hubert is getting settled on the pegasus behind Ferdinand, "if you are falling asleep, you will be missing the beautiful view!"

"Warm," Bernadetta grumbles, and nuzzles against the back of Petra's neck; Ferdinand laughs.

"Best of luck," he says, and kicks his pegasus into the sky. In this dark there is not much of a view, really, the entire reason for leaving in the dead of night like this. Soon nearly every noble in Adrestia and a few from farther afield will be congregating at the Garreg Mach Monastery-turned-School, and though they will only be there for a handful of days it is best to keep knowledge of their absence to a minimum. Hubert tightens his grip around Ferdinand's middle as they rise, and Ferdinand does him the courtesy of not trying to comfort him, simply pretends not to notice and enjoys the embrace regardless of its motives. Petra and Bernadetta race by on their wyvern, laughing about something, the pack wyvern close behind, and Ferdinand resists the temptation to urge his mount ever higher, into the stars.

-

When Ferdinand closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, he is instantly transported back in time; some things have changed about the Garreg Mach stables, and of course none of the mounts he loved in his school days are still here, but it still smells the same. The same odd mix of wyverns, pegasi, and horses in closer proximity than at the palace, the same feed, the same polishes and waxes. For a moment it feels as if when he opens his eyes he will be staring at the boy he used to be, so foolish but so _ready_ to become the man Ferdinand is now, if only someone would show him how to do it. That boy would not, perhaps, be surprised to learn of the title he holds, the place he has ascended to, but that is the only part that would not come as a shock. 

Ferdinand opens his eyes and of course there is no wide-eyed copy of himself staring back, only Hubert leaning against a post still looking somewhat green. The air currents were not kind to him, though Ferdinand did his best to avoid the worst of it.

"You should lie down," he says. "It might help. Petra said Bernadetta went for a nap, I am sure she would enjoy your company."

"I detest napping," Hubert says, arms crossed; he is in a foul mood, one as familiar as the smell of the stables. Instead of running away like he used to, Ferdinand steps closer, and instead of baiting him into a fight Ferdinand leans in for a kiss. 

"Shall I cheer you up?" Ferdinand asks.

"That depends what you have in mind," Hubert says, and Ferdinand drops to his knees. 

"Do you know," he says, raising his hands to the placket of Hubert's trousers and pausing until Hubert nods, "I used to fantasize about this."

"Of course you did," Hubert says, a smile teasing at the corners of his lips.

"With you," Ferdinand says, and relishes in the brief surprise that flashes across Hubert's expression until he neutralizes it again. It's a rare treat to surprise a man as concerned with always knowing everything as Hubert is. "Not exactly like this."

"No?"

Ferdinand finishes with Hubert's buttons and eases his pants down over slim hips that fit so neatly in his hands it is as if they were made for each other, freeing his soft cock. He was going to keep talking but he simply cannot resist pressing his mouth to the soft skin, kissing from root to tip and back again before taking the head into his mouth and sucking gently, slowly, just to feel the way Hubert hardens for him. Ferdinand teases his tongue under Hubert's foreskin, earning himself a sharp gasp and one of Hubert's hands wound into his hair, and sighs at the salt tang of Hubert's skin. When he is fully hard Ferdinand pulls away so he can take Hubert in hand, pull back the foreskin to reveal how red the head of his cock is already, and stroke the slick flesh.

"No," he says. "We would have stable duty together, and you would be cruel to me. I, of course, would desire nothing more than to get the job done perfectly, but you would keep interfering."

"Not very nice of me," Hubert says, voice beginning to pitch even lower. He reaches down to brush Ferdinand's hair out of his face, so much gentler than he would have been once.

"You were quite a villain," Ferdinand says, stroking Hubert's cock in a slow rhythm and trying to keep his attention on his words. "At one point you would trip me, so I would go sprawling on the floor in front of you, and sneer while I tried to stand up. And once I was on my knees, you would stop me. I could have overpowered you, of course, but what might a wicked boy like you do to me with your dark magic and darker morals?"

Hubert snorts. "You sound like one of Bernadetta's romance novels."

"Please," Ferdinand says, and squeezes Hubert's cock until he gasps. "She is a far better writer than I am."

Hubert laughs, hips beginning to rock into Ferdinand's grip, urging him to move faster. Ferdinand squeezes him again, more gently, and resumes his same slow pace; Hubert's cock is tempting, red at the tip and just beginning to bead with precome, but Ferdinand wants to finish _talking_ , torture him a little.

"You would tell me how nice I looked on my knees, and I would hate it, because I would _like_ it, the way it made me feel to have someone - to have _you_ \- talk to me like that, and you would pull my hair and taunt me when it made my eyes tear up. And I would - oh, I would be thinking of everything you might do with me on my knees, and letting my imagination run away with me, and growing so shamefully hard in my pants, and _wanting_. And you would pull my hair, and tell me to make myself useful, and I would think oh, no, he's recognized how much I want it, he _knows_."

"I would," Hubert says. "Of course I would, you're incapable of concealing your emotions."

"Especially when I wish you to know them," Ferdinand says, and rubs his thumb just under the head of Hubert's cock where he is especially sensitive, so his hips jerk forward and he groans. His pleasure now is so much sweeter than his disdain then, even the disdain of Ferdinand's guiltiest fantasies. "Because if you knew what a slut I wanted to be for you perhaps you would use me properly. I dreamed of you slapping my face, with your hand so it stung and then with your cock so it was clear how little you thought of me, and I would pant for it like a dog in heat, desperate to taste you while you teased me. And, oh, tease me you would, making damn sure I showed you how badly I wanted it to humiliate me before taking your pleasure. You would make me beg and I would do so _gladly_ for a taste of you."

Ferdinand wants to beg now, a little, though he is the one entirely in control this time. His cock is so hard being trapped in his trousers is painful, a sweet torture he rocks his hips just to savor. Hubert is leaking freely now, nearly dripping with it, and Ferdinand's mouth waters to taste him.

"And when you had your fill of teasing," Ferdinand says, his own voice growing rough with the desire that builds inside him like wildfire, "you would push that beautiful cock of yours down my throat and fuck my face so roughly I could not help but cry. Cry, and choke, and struggle as if I wished to be anywhere else, but you would be holding my hair so tightly I could not get away."

"You could," Hubert says, thrusting his hips into Ferdinand's grip, color rising in his cheeks, sweat glistening on his brow. "You were so much stronger than me."

"Ah," Ferdinand says, "but only if I wanted to. And why would I ever want to be anywhere but on my knees for you, my love?"

And with that, Ferdinand finally, finally wraps his lips around the head of Hubert's cock, laps up his bitter precome like he needs it to live - in this moment, he is not entirely sure he does not. Hubert pulls his hair, yes, pulls so hard Ferdinand's eyes water, and Ferdinand hurries to take more of Hubert's length into his mouth. It is so easy to relax his throat and let Hubert push even farther, as if he truly was made for this, and his eyes slip closed against the rush of arousal. Hubert pushes forward until Ferdinand has taken it all, until his nose is pressed into the wiry hair at the base of Hubert's lovely cock, and wraps Ferdinand's hair around his fist until Ferdinand cannot move without pain. 

"You filthy thing," Hubert says, somewhere between a growl and a sneer, and Ferdinand is transported once again to his youth, to his hand shoved shamefully in his pants and his pillow clenched between his teeth while he brought himself to shameful orgasm after shameful orgasm. He gags on Hubert's cock but Hubert does not let up; his eyes water and the slide of tears down his heated cheeks is sublime. "I suppose you are good for something after all."

Ferdinand comes in his pants so violently his back bows, like he's been hit with one of Hubert's spells and not merely his words, and barely registers Hubert pulling him off his cock as his head reels. One hand still wound tightly in Ferdinand's hair, pulling hard, Hubert strokes himself off to messy completion all over Ferdinand's face and his own fist, which he offers to Ferdinand to lick clean. Hubert sags against the wall, breathing hard, and Ferdinand simply nuzzles against his palm, overcome.

"Flames, Ferdinand," Hubert says, finally. "I think I do need a nap after all."

Ferdinand laughs, and tips forward to rest his head against Hubert's hip, still shaking from the force of his orgasm and so giddy he cannot quite manage to stand up yet.

-

Ferdinand is not quite as good at quite as many things as he used to believe, but even with a healthier perspective he knows he excels at taking a day off like few others. When there is work to be done he will cheerfully put his nose to the grindstone; when there is an overwhelming quantity he will work himself to the bone without a word of complaint. But when the time comes for a day or two of relaxation, he will set himself to that task with equal fervor.  
The sun creeps ever higher in the sky, high enough now it can no longer truly be called morning, and so far Ferdinand has only left his bed to answer the door and receive a tray from the kitchens. He sighs with contentment and performs another repetition of the day's most strenuous exercise: plucking a slice of peach from their breakfast plate and pressing it to Bernadetta's lips. It is one of the greatest delights of his life to feed her like this, to have her tongue dart out to lick the stray juices from his fingers and her cheeks turn pink at her own behavior.

"I never thought I'd say this," she says, as Ferdinand takes a few berries for himself, "but we might want to leave the room some time today."

Ferdinand gasps as if he has been struck, clutches his hand to his chest in alarm. "My dear, are you feeling alright?"

"Oh, stop," she says. "Everyone's probably here by now and wondering where we are."

"On our wedding weekend? No, I am sure they know _exactly_ where we are."

"Still," she says, and reaches over him to take another slice of peach. "Hubert was up before the sun."

"Hubert needs to be reminded he promised us no work this weekend," Ferdinand says. "Unfortunately, I cannot do so, as I am fully committed to wasting the day in bed. Were they this comfortable when we were in school?"

"Yes," she says, "in the sense that they're not very comfortable at all. You've just gotten lazier."

"How _dare_ you," Ferdinand says, and rolls over on top of her in what is certainly a very threatening manner. He may be grinning so widely his cheeks hurt a little from the joy of how beautifully their bodies fit together, but surely Bernadetta knows when she is being chastised. Perhaps a very stern kiss will ensure she never does it again? Or maybe an even more drastic punishment is required; she rocks her hips so he can feel the heat of her cunt against his soft cock, and he _does_ want to be sure the lesson takes.

There is a soft click outside, a key being fit into a lock and turned, and the door swings open to Hubert's disappointed face, which grows even more disappointed when he sees them still in bed.

"It's well past midday," he says.

"Oh no," Ferdinand says, and glances at their tray. "And we have yet to finish our breakfast."

"That must be why you're still in bed," he says. "Weak from starvation?"

"A splendid excuse, thank you."

Ferdinand flashes a grin at Hubert, whose scowl only deepens. So he's in a mood again; no sense trying to entice him into bed for a little afternoon fun. Ferdinand rolls off of Bernadetta and sits up.

"Is everything all right?"

"People have been arriving all day looking for you," Hubert says. 

"Only our friends," Ferdinand says, "none of whom would begrudge us a little rest. You may scold me if you catch me being rude to important guests next weekend, but I refuse to feel guilty for enjoying some time alone."

"I was hardly scolding you."

"Not yet," Ferdinand says. 

"Okay," Bernadetta says, and rolls out of bed. "No fighting."

Ferdinand had no intention of letting it become a fight, as content and lazy as he is feeling, though if he is honest he rarely _intends_ to fight with Hubert. If Bernadetta sensed something coming, she was probably correct, better at recognizing the flames building in Ferdinand, the walls slamming into place behind Hubert's eyes, than either of them. And he would much rather admire Bernadetta's plump bottom when she goes up on her toes to kiss Hubert than argue with her.

"Did you need something?" she asks against his lips. "And can I distract you from it?"

Hubert huffs out a laugh, so easy for her even though his face is still all thunder clouds and annoyance, and kisses her again before turning to Ferdinand.

"Your guest has been spotted on his way in," he says. "He should be here soon."

"Guest?" Bernadetta frowns and drops her arms from around Hubert's neck so she can turn to Ferdinand as well. 

"Ah, yes, thank you," Ferdinand says, and claps his hands. He had nearly forgotten the big surprise! "Bernie, darling, I am afraid we will have to get dressed today after all, there is someone - "

"You promised," she says, cutting him off. Her arms are crossed and she's scowling nearly as much as Hubert now. "You _promised_ this would only be the Strike Force, that I wouldn't have to worry about dealing with anyone I don't want to. I can't - _you're_ sneaking off to get work done after you swore you would relax, and _you're_ inviting strangers to the private ceremony? Who's so important they can't wait until next weekend?"

"Not a stranger!" Ferdinand says, holding his hands out in supplication. "I - you will like the surprise, I promise."

Bernadetta glances at Hubert, who nods, which seems to appease her for the moment. Perhaps Ferdinand did not entirely think this through - but it is too late now to change things. 

"I apologize," he says, while she somewhat grumpily gets dressed. "I did not consider - honestly, I thought we promised friends only, not the Black Eagles specifically, my intention was not to break the promise. I think you will be happy, when you see?"

"Alright," she says, and makes her way over to help him finish buttoning his shirt. "I know you get excited, I just - "

"You make your rules for a reason, I know," he says. "I will do better."

She kisses his cheek, which usually means he is forgiven, and leans into him a little when she takes his arm. Ferdinand adores the way she does that, tilts towards him like flowers she has shown him that always reach for the sun. Even when he takes a faulty step, even when he fails to live up to being the man she deserves, something in her wants to be close to him anyway. He smiles at her, and leads her outside, Hubert following along behind; their timing is quite good, as Ferdinand's surprise guest is just coming around from the stables. 

Bernadetta gasps, takes off at a dead sprint - faster than Ferdinand has ever seen her move outside of life or death circumstances - and leaps at her target from far enough away Ferdinand is almost certain she will fall. 

"Sylvain!" she shouts, loud enough to carry all over the monastery, and Sylvain moves quickly enough to catch her in a tight hug and swing her around in circles before letting her feet touch the ground again.

Bernadetta is chattering a mile a minute, a rare sight indeed, beaming and hanging off Sylvain's arm as she leads him across the grounds. Ferdinand knew they were friendly in school, friendly enough to occasionally exchange correspondence during the war (something she wanted badly enough to allow Hubert to intercept their letters and give his approval, enough to allow someone on the Faerghus side of things to no doubt do the same), knew that inviting him here would be a pleasant surprise for her, but he is a little taken aback at just how delighted she truly is. He knows Bernadetta is the sort of climbing rose that needs to cling to something to grow, he is just occasionally guilty of forgetting how many trellises she managed to find for herself.

"And you were worried about his loyalty," Ferdinand says, leaning towards Hubert.

"Not his specifically," Hubert says, "and please don't tell me you think being fond of Bernadetta proves anything, or I'll know I've failed you entirely."

"Give me a single example from history of someone harming the Emperor while enjoying a close relationship with the Emperor Consort," Ferdinand says, just to watch Hubert splutter and protest. He laughs and holds out his arm for Hubert to take, half-expecting Hubert to refuse considering the mood he seems to be in. "Now, let me escort you to wherever it is you have hidden the work Bernadetta asked you not to bring, and then I will go do my duty as a good host."

Hubert rolls his eyes, but takes Ferdinand's arm, and the two of them leave Bernadetta to her happy reunion.

-

Ferdinand is quite pleased with the success of his surprise; he does not see Bernadetta again until dinner is being served, and she and Sylvain emerge from wherever it is they were hiding. When she sits next to him, Sylvain at her other side, Bernadetta kisses his cheek and whispers a sweet _thank you_ in his ear before turning back to continue her conversation with Sylvain. It is rare for her to ever be in the sort of mood he would describe as chatty, rarer still for her to still be so social after hours and hours. He will have to see about learning to inspire this mood more often, as often as makes her happy and comfortable. In that spirit, Ferdinand keeps one ear on her conversation with Sylvain.

"So it's going well?"

"Yeah, I guess," Sylvain says. "I don't know what I expected, but we balance each other pretty okay. I'm trying to get Ashe in on it, he's pretty good at letting us know when we've got our noble heads on backwards, but he's kind of going through it."

"Caspar and Ashe are close, aren't they? Or were, I guess."

Sylvain shrugs. "I guess?"

"I mean, if Caspar were ambassador to Faerghus, would that maybe give Ashe an extra reason to come to the capitol and serve on the council? If he wants nothing more to do with politics, I completely understand, but if he just needs a little push I'm happy to do what I can to make it easier."

Sylvain raises an eyebrow and leans back in his chair, stretches his hands behind his head. "Bernie, are you politicking me right now?"

"It's really obvious, isn't it?" Bernadetta laughs. "I'm not very good at it yet."

"Nah, you're great, just not very subtle."

"It's just..." Bernadetta sighs and leans in a little closer to Sylvain, lowering her voice. "I'm _dying_ , Sylvain, I've got a fiance _and_ a lover and they're both so up to their eyebrows in work it's - if I can get them to just take a couple nights off, you know? And if what you're already doing is working, and everyone's happy with it, you can wait until we've got the Alliance sorted so we can tell you we need ambassadors instated and you need a commoner presence on your council, or I can tell you right now that's what we're going to want, you can see if Ashe is okay with it, and maybe I can have a few hours of _real_ honeymoon."

"Something tells me you're doing alright for yourself," Sylvain says, "but it's not like I want your boys coming in and telling us how to run things anyway. So, yeah, you send us Caspar, Mercedes has been asking for an ambassadorship anyway so I can send her your way, and I'll lean on Ashe a little."

"And if Felix and Ingrid complain, you can always tell them I was making big innocent eyes at you in a low-cut dress, and you just couldn't help yourself."

Sylvain laughs and shakes her hand; Ferdinand sits back and shakes his head a little before turning to Hubert.

"Darling," he says, leaning in close, "I think Bernadetta just secured a stable state government in Faerghus."

Hubert takes a sip of his drink. "Wonderful."

"Just now, with no trouble."

"Yes," Hubert says. "Good. We can turn our focus to rebuilding as soon as we've finished with Leicester."

"Well, of course it is good," Ferdinand says. "I simply did not expect it."

"You really must stop underestimating her," Hubert says, smiling enough Ferdinand knows he probably does not intend it to be an insult, at least not entirely. Ferdinand could protest, and a part of him wishes nothing more, but when he and Hubert begin competing they rarely know when to stop and it would be absurd to ruin dinner the night before his wedding trying to list all the ways in which he has seen and encouraged Bernadetta's potential. So he simply kisses Hubert's cheek, conceding the point, and turns his attention to the rest of their guests, their friends, for the remainder of the evening

-

Ferdinand walks Bernadetta back towards the bed, never taking his eyes off hers even as he speaks to Hubert.

"I forgot to mention one detail of her conversation earlier, Hubert - she told Sylvain we are failing to keep her satisfied," he says; Bernadetta's knees hit the bed and she falls onto it.

"Oh my," Hubert says. "Is that true, Bernadetta?"

"I was negotiating - "

"No, no," Hubert says. "I believe that's what you told him. But are you unsatisfied?"

Bernadetta tilts her chin up, sets her jaw, squares her shoulders. Wonderful! It always takes a little pushing to get her to participate in play like this, but when she does it is always a treat. She arches an eyebrow at Hubert, then turns to look Ferdinand dead in the eyes.

"I know how much value you two put on being good at what you do," she says, "and I'd _hate_ to hurt your feelings."

"I believe that is a yes," Ferdinand says, and Hubert is on the bed in a flash; he grabs a handful of Bernadetta's hair to turn her face to his, to pull her into a filthy kiss, and Bernadetta moans low and long as she twists towards him. Ferdinand makes short work - as short as he can - of his vest, blouse, trousers, and smallclothes, and by the time he turns his attention back to his lovers Bernadetta is sprawled on her back with the bodice of her dress tugged down beneath her tits. Hubert is a bit obsessed with them, though Ferdinand can hardly blame him, and Bernadetta certainly has no complaints. 

Ferdinand climbs onto the bed and pushes Hubert out of the way so he can undress, then straddles Bernadetta so he can pin her in place. He loves to look at her like this, to admire how big his cock looks in relation to her body at this angle. That she can take it all without trouble is nearly miraculous, much less that she takes it with the eagerness, enthusiasm, and downright greed she so often displays. Bernadetta tries to wriggle down the bed a little, no doubt to get her mouth on him, but Ferdinand keeps her where she is.

"I must apologize for how terribly you have been neglected, my love," he says, while she whines. "Do not worry, I will make it up to you with a lengthy accounting of my wrongs and a detailed plan for how I will make it right!"

"We want to tease, not torture," Hubert says, as he climbs onto the bed and shuffles forward on his knees. Bernadetta turns towards him as much as she can and despite his promises about teasing he indulges her, allows her to take the head of his hardening cock between her pink lips. Bernadetta makes a sweet noise in the back of her throat, always so pleased to savor Hubert like the delicious treat he is.

No longer the center of attention, Ferdinand moves back and sets about undressing Bernadetta fully, lovely as the sight of her dress slipping to her waist is. She twists for him to unbutton her dress, arches her hips so he can slip her tights and undergarments off, raises her arms so he can remove her dress, all with little coaxing from Ferdinand and all without turning her attention from Hubert's cock. It is a dance they have rehearsed many times before, the three of them, so frequently too eager to fully undress, so frequently too focused on giving pleasure to allow a distraction. 

Ferdinand settles between her legs and watches them, the heat in Hubert's eyes, all the sharp lines and angles of his pale, scarred skin, the smudge of Bernadetta's eyelashes against her pink cheeks, the eager bob of her head, the hard points of her nipples and the soft curve of her belly and thighs. He runs his hands up her legs and watches them part for him as if he is applying anything but the lightest of touches, admires the flush of her cunt already shining with slick for them.

"I believe I know what the problem is," Ferdinand says, sweeping his fingers over her thighs. "Bernadetta is pleasuring you, and the sight of you is pleasuring me, but no one is doing a thing for her."

"You might be on to something," he says. "We're being downright neglectful."

Bernadetta squirms, shifting her hips, trying to guide Ferdinand's touch where she so obviously needs it, but he feigns ignorance, tilts his head side to side and tries to look thoughtful.

"What do you suggest?" Ferdinand asks, and Bernadetta pulls her head back so Hubert's cock slides out of her mouth with an absolutely filthy noise.

"You, um, you could put - put your mouth to better use," she says, and Ferdinand frowns.

"I would," he says, "but Hubert forbade me from giving a speech."

Bernadetta kicks him and Ferdinand laughs, so delighted when she gets like this. 

"I see I misunderstood you," he says, winks, and ducks down between her legs. 

Once Ferdinand has a taste of her it is nearly impossible to remember the game, his intention to tease her; Bernadetta's arousal is one of the finest things Ferdinand has ever had the pleasure of tasting, thick and sweet on his tongue. And the way she feels, the soft skin of her folds, the heat of her, the beautiful way her clit gets harder and harder as he licks over her, Ferdinand could never tire of it. He circles his tongue over her hole, feels the muscles work in response, and his own cock aches with the phantom of how she feels when he pushes inside her. Bernadetta's moans are muffled, she must have her mouth on Hubert's cock again, and oh what a shame he has to choose between giving her cunt his entire attention and looking at the way her mouth stretches to accommodate Hubert, how Hubert's cheeks go red and his mouth drops open as she pleasures him. He does indeed have to choose, though, and if he intends to give Bernadetta his full attention he will do so enthusiastically.

Ferdinand licks from her hole to her clit, swirls his tongue around the hard bud until Bernadetta is rocking her hips urgently against him, then works his way back down to push his tongue inside. He can feel her entire body react to him, the arch of her hips, the flex of her thighs under his hands, the clench of her hole as if to draw his tongue in further. 

There is something sublime about this, just this, Bernadetta's muffled whines and gasps, Hubert's quiet grunts, the slick sounds of his lovely cock in her mouth, the flashes behind Ferdinand's closed eyes of other times he's seen them like that, how breathtaking they are, the heat of Bernadetta's skin against his tongue, the taste of her, thicker and richer as he turns her on more. He can tell just from the taste of her, the feel of her, the pitch of her cries, how close she is to coming, and simply knowing that is nearly as thrilling as the act itself. 

"Ah," Hubert gasps as Ferdinand works his way back up to Bernadetta's clit, "no, no. I'd hate to come before you've been satisfied."

"I was neg - ah - negoti - ah! Ah!" As if on cue, her hips buck and her breath hitches and her slick gushes over Ferdinand's chin and then his tongue as he moves down to drink it all in. Bernadetta shakes and bucks like a wild thing, lovely in her passion, but too soon she is pushing him away. No - Hubert is pushing him away, presumably because he has some sort of scheme. It is always worthwhile when Hubert applies his considerable mind for tactics to their bedroom activities, even if Ferdinand could stay between Bernadetta's legs drinking her sweet nectar forever. So Ferdinand sits up and makes a show of licking his lips just to make Bernadetta go pink, just to make her cover her face and laugh.

"Come up here," Hubert says, and tugs Ferdinand in for a filthy kiss, more tongue than anything. Sharing Bernadetta's taste between them is a heady experience, and the drag of Hubert's tongue only enhances it, sends warmth down Ferdinand's spine to pool hot and liquid in his cock. Ferdinand clutches Hubert's face in his hands and moans into his mouth, leaning into him over Bernadetta as she catches her breath. He is starving for it, desperate, and he would be ashamed of the whine that escapes his throat when Hubert pushes him away if he had any shame left. "Not yet."

Ferdinand takes a deep breath and collects himself before he nods, tries to get back on the same page as Hubert. They so rarely have this abundance of time - no working into the late hours of the night, no late dinners or arguments over points of policy that carry into the bedroom and beyond - and energy - no first meals of the day at dinner, no powering through exhaustion, no overdose of caffeine to leave them aching for sleep - and there will be no wasting it on frantic, hurried touches. He goes where Hubert guides him with a stern hand in the middle of his chest, to sit at the head of the bed, pillows at his back, and spreads his legs for Bernadetta to sit between so he can hold her in place for whatever Hubert wishes to do.

Hubert wishes to kiss her, apparently, slow and filthy while she melts into Ferdinand's hold and sighs so sweetly for him, so easy for Hubert's physical affection because he offers it so rarely. He kisses her pink lips and the high points of her cheeks, the shell of her ear, the slender curve of her neck, over her collarbones, and down to his favorite place, the pert swell of her breasts.

Bernadetta squeals, writhing in Ferdinand's arms when Hubert's teeth close around her nipple and tug, and Ferdinand tightens his hold to keep her in place for him. Hubert is so much rougher with her than Ferdinand is, and she makes the loveliest noises for him; Ferdinand could watch the two of them for hours, especially from this precious vantage point with Bernadetta in his lap. She whines and arches her back, and Hubert lets go only to bestow the same punishment on her other stiff, pink nipple, biting down until she cries out. Ferdinand slips one hand between her legs to run his fingers over her lovely little cunt, to feel how wet she is, how hot to the touch. 

Once he is there he cannot help but run the pad of his finger over the needy bud of her clit, so her hips jerk and she grabs at his arm, less to stop him than to have something to hold on to so she does not fly away entirely. 

"I will not tease you, my love, do not worry," Ferdinand says, stroking her clit with two fingers the way she loves. "You will be unsatisfied no longer."

Hubert laughs around her nipple and eases up, lets go with his teeth and swirls his tongue around the abused skin to soothe her. One of his hands joins Ferdinand's between her soft thighs, and Ferdinand can just feel one of his long, wicked fingers pushing inside. Bernadetta groans, digs her nails into Ferdinand's arm and tries to spread her legs even wider, asking so sweetly for everything they have to give her. They know her body so well by now, every one of her secrets; Hubert must be crooking his fingers just so, judging from Bernadetta's harsh gasps, and Ferdinand strokes her more firmly to match. Soon enough she is writhing between them, crying their names as she comes apart again, squirting over their fingers.

Ferdinand kisses the crown of her head, the shell of her ear, her cheek, before she clumsily turns her head and allows him to capture her lips. He moves his hand away to give her a moment, but rather than letting up Hubert pushes two more fingers into her, making her sigh into Ferdinand's kiss as though she has been waiting for that all night. 

"I have a suggestion," Hubert says, as her hips and his hand settle into a steady rhythm. "If Bernadetta is so unhappy with the two of us - "

"I'm not!" she says, pulling away from the kiss to protest, but Ferdinand chases her and kisses her again before she can say more.

"As I was _saying_ , perhaps Bernadetta doesn't feel she has been given the full benefits of having two lovers," Hubert says. "Perhaps what she wants is for us to work together."

Ferdinand raises an eyebrow, and rather than answering Hubert guides his fingers down past Bernadetta's oversensitive clit, past the slick petals of her folds, past her hole clenching and eager to be filled, and behind, to tease at the pucker of her ass. 

"Ah," Ferdinand says, as Bernadetta squirms in his arms, " _together_."

Bernadetta shivers, and as Ferdinand pushes his finger, slick with her juices, slowly inside, she arches her back and sighs.

"Yes," she says. "I - please, yes."

The angle is awkward and Ferdinand can only work his finger in so far even with his palm pressed against her cunt. She's so wet, from her own slick, from Ferdinand's mouth, and so sensitive he can feel her muscles twitching against his hand, and her whimpers are right on the line between pleased and pained. This is always when Ferdinand is tempted to back off, to stop pushing, but Hubert is clearly just getting started and it is truly thrilling to simply be a part of his scheme. Hubert slips off the bed to retrieve something from their bags, and Ferdinand adds another finger to stretch Bernadetta open, leans forward to kiss away her groan. 

Hubert returns with a half-full bottle of oil and pours some over Ferdinand's fingers to ease the way - it is a little cool, against the heat of their skin, and Bernadetta shivers deliciously at the sensation - before slicking two of his own. He glances at Bernadetta, waits for her nod, and then pushes one of his own long, slim fingers in aside Ferdinand's. He has a better angle and can get in much deeper, and much as he enjoys working together in the tight heat of her body Ferdinand slips his own fingers free and returns to playing with her cunt and seeing which touches make her shiver and twitch.

Bernadetta tips her head back against Ferdinand's shoulders and sighs, rolls her hips into the rhythm of Hubert's fingers, and Ferdinand is treated to the lovely sight of her whole body moving in time to the pleasure she is receiving. And he need only raise his eyes a little to admire Hubert at some of his most lovely, deeply focused on Bernadetta's body and unaware how handsome he is flushed red, hair curling from sweat, eyes dark with pleasure. Ferdinand is an astonishingly lucky man, and he is eager to show them how much he appreciates his gifts.

"Ready?" he asks, and Bernadetta nods, breath hitching as Hubert's fingers leave her. She kneels up on shaky legs and turns to face Ferdinand, laughs when Hubert grips Ferdinand's cock with slick fingers and Ferdinand gasps. She does not laugh for long, though, as Hubert guides Ferdinand to her entrance and urges her to sink down, taking him completely in one smooth movement that has Ferdinand biting his lip against the shock of pleasure and Bernadetta groaning low and sweet.

Hubert moves into position behind her, and waits for her to rock her hips a few times, adjusting to Ferdinand's size inside her, before taking her hips in hand and pushing inside himself. It is - Ferdinand does not have the words for it, the intensity of feeling Hubert through Bernadetta, the pressure of his cock, the heavy slide of his slow push. The grip of Bernadetta's cunt around his aching cock is one of the finest pleasures in life but the addition of Hubert raises it to another level entirely and Ferdinand is overwhelmed.

He is not the only one. Bernadetta shudders as Hubert bottoms out, and begins to move, a steady whimper rising from the back of her throat as her mouth drops open. She is shaking, thighs strained from a long night of spreading them for her lovers already, and Ferdinand takes hold of her hips along with Hubert to help steady her, guide her along. It is awkward, three bodies trying to move in tandem, even three as used to each other as they are, and after a number of failed attempts to settle into a rhythm Hubert stops moving and bites at Bernadetta's ear.

"Worn out already?" Hubert asks, and before Bernadetta can answer he grabs the long part of her hair and yanks, hard, so her whole body jerks as her head is pulled back, and as she cries out - oh. Bernadetta cries out, and all her muscles tense up at once, so tense the clench around his cock takes Ferdinand's breath away, and her crest activates. It is beautiful to behold - she shudders, and gasps, and when she tilts her head upright there is a split second of an unnatural glow to her eyes as her muscles relax and her posture changes. If it weren't for the sheen of sweat, the mess of her hair, the drench between her thighs, Ferdinand could think she had just rolled out of bed, fresh and ready to start a new day.

"I, ooh, I love when you do that," she says, a little short of breath, and rocks her hips experimentally. Her eyes slip closed and she whines. She feels much tighter around Ferdinand than she did only a second ago, and it is a little overwhelming for him; he can only imagine how it must feel for her, to undo all the careful work they did preparing her but still be stuffed full. Bernadetta only takes a moment before she begins to move in earnest, though, so she surely has no complaints.

With Bernadetta refreshed and Ferdinand - and most likely Hubert, judging from the red of his cheeks and the way he grunts on nearly every breath - so desperately close to the edge it does not take long at all to work back up to a frantic rhythm, so the slap of skin against skin is nearly the loudest noise in the room. Nearly. No longer responsible for helping Bernadetta move, Ferdinand loses himself in it, the push-pull of Hubert's cock pressing against his inside their Bernadetta, the slick slide of Bernadetta's greedy cunt, the tangle of all their legs so haphazardly arranged. He tightens his grip on her soft hips not for any control but merely because if he does not have firm hold of something he may separate from reality entirely, and throws his head back as his body takes over.

Bernadetta yelps and grows impossibly slicker around Ferdinand; Hubert's grunts turn to curses and half-syllables of their names all jumbled together, _Bern-uh-nand_ , _Fer-ah-etta_ ; Bernadetta squeezes and relaxes around Ferdinand's cock as she chases her pleasure, and Ferdinand goes spilling over the edge all at once, one moment painfully aroused and the next caught up in a whirlwind. His vision whites out as he spills inside Bernadetta, and if he weren't holding her so tightly the skin blanches around his fingertips he would worry about throwing her right off. When his wits return he is so sensitive the slip of her skin against his cock almost hurts, he's so sensitive, but when he moves to slip out she whines and chases him. Of course, it is only fair, after how they have teased her.

Ferdinand grits his teeth, digs his fingernails into her skin, tries to keep breathing against the fire sparking all through his veins, and allows her to use him as she wishes. Hubert's hand is working furiously between her legs, fingers a blur, the other pinching and plucking one of her sensitive nipples, and it is both an eternity and only an instant before she cries out and comes, clenching up so tightly Ferdinand cannot help but cry along with her. Hubert follows her over the edge, with a curse and his teeth buried in her shoulder, and then the only sound in the room is the three of them gasping for breath as they come down together from an astronomical high.

"Flames," Bernadetta sighs eventually, a habit she has picked up from Hubert. "I - sleep."

"We should clean up first," Ferdinand says; Bernadetta just grumbles and falls to the side, letting their soft cocks slip out of her as she tumbles to the bed. Hubert looks at Ferdinand, shrugs, and lies down beside her, pressed against her back. Neither of them seem to have any intention of moving, but Ferdinand simply cannot sleep if he is sticky, so he rolls his eyes, rises, and fetches his dressing gown. The school is deserted at this time of night, at least, so no one sees him so barely clothed in his search for warm water and a few cloths, and by the time he is back in their room both Hubert and Bernadetta are sound asleep. He laughs, quietly, and sets about cleaning them as carefully as possible, and when he is satisfied he slips into bed beside them and buries his nose in Bernadetta's hair.

-

Ferdinand is a deep sleeper, and it is rare for his wayward partners to wake him when they slip out of bed in the middle of the night. But they are not often crammed into the too-small space of a Garreg Mach dormitory bed; Ferdinand might wake more often if Hubert could not leave without pushing his bony knees into Ferdinand's various soft parts. Ferdinand stays quiet, though, simply watches the vague shape of Hubert as he dresses and leaves the room. He is about to go back to sleep when Bernadetta sighs beside him and sits up.

"Darling?" He is a little surprised she is awake at all, after what they put her through, but Bernadetta is always full of surprises.

"He isn't sleeping," she says, "and he's avoiding us."

"He is a little off, I suppose,” Ferdinand says, and rolls onto his back so he can look up at her. “It has been a long time since he has overworked himself like this, though I suppose with the public wedding coming up it is not entirely out of the question he has returned to old habits." 

"Not entirely," she says.

"I did expect, when I walked him back to Byleth's office this afternoon, to be pulled in to whatever he was working on the rest of the day, but he seemed quite anxious for me to leave. After he scolded us for being lazy, too."

"It might be nothing," she says. "It - I don't know."

"It is rarely nothing with Hubert, I am afraid," Ferdinand says. "You could go talk to him."

"I could," Bernadetta says, and brushes Ferdinand's hair back behind his ears. She is biting her lip, a certain distance in her eyes, a certain quiver to her tone that is not usual when she is determined to go help Hubert.

"But?" Ferdinand asks, and Bernadetta sighs.

"I wish you would figure out how to talk to him, too," she says. "Not when you're working, not teasing, not arguing. Whatever it is that makes you think you can't just talk to each other - how are we supposed to do this, the three of us? It's been over a year since the first time, what are you still so afraid of?"

Ferdinand turns and kisses her palm rather than answering, which is not exactly fair, but to answer he would have to know what words to use. And how could he? As long as he can remember there has been a fire smoldering low in his gut, and as long as he can remember Hubert has stoked that fire into something wild and raging that threatens to consume him. It is only in recent years he has even managed to understand the good in that, the importance of the fire and the power in letting it burn; it is still terrifying to hand control of it over even when he is certain Hubert will tend it carefully. He trusts Hubert with his life, now, knows if Hubert ever did truly intend him harm those days are long past, but the things he can do to Ferdinand with a careless word are simply too much to risk.

But Bernadetta plucks the oil from Hubert's hands and turns it to water when Ferdinand needs to be calmed, takes his watering can and replaces it with fuel when Ferdinand needs to blaze. She has known so very much fear in her life, and has never belittled Ferdinand for his own, nor hesitated to make herself a shield when he needs one; but she has also placed stones, in her careful, gentle way, built walls inside Ferdinand to direct the fire safely no matter how it rages. Perhaps, with all the quiet, clever work she has done on his heart if he is doused a window will open somewhere for a breeze to bring it back to life; if he burns too hot those windows will slam shut and starve the inferno. 

"I have so little control over my moods," he says, against the soft skin of her hand. "If he does not wish to talk, he tries to upset me instead, and when I fall for it I make everything worse."

"Do you?"

Ferdinand laughs a little against her palm. "Bernie, you ran to the far end of the palace every time we had a disagreement the entire first month we were all there."

"And then I got used to it," Bernadetta says. "He doesn't tell you important things without a fight, and he doesn't tell me important things until he's about to collapse. He needs both of us, like I need you to tell me it's okay to avoid things because I'm afraid and him to make sure I don't _always_ avoid what I'm afraid of. And you need a minimum of two people to keep up with how many compliments your ego requires to stay fed."

"Ouch," Ferdinand says, though he cannot help but smile at the wiggle of her eyebrows. A Bernadetta who happily teases him with no fear of repercussions is a treat indeed. Her smile, even small and tinged with worry, is radiant, warms Ferdinand all the way through much the way a bowl of stew on a cold day might; Ferdinand sighs. "I let go of what my father wanted for me long ago, but I did not let go of what _I_ wanted for me, and unfortunately he was a rather significant contributor to those wants. And I - here I am, Emperor of not only Adrestia but the entire continent, about to marry a woman he chose for me, and I want those things for me, Bernie, I want you because _I_ love you and not because he wanted me to, but they are still things that would make him proud."

"But he would hate Hubert," she says, immediately understanding as she so often does.

"Goddess, yes. Everything about it - that my lover on the side is a man he detests, that I allow my wife to have a lover on the side, that I value Hubert’s counsel, that he is the one who gave me the crown. It is - Hubert reminds me, simply by existing at my side, that I am my own man, which means I can be a better man. If I make a mess of things, if I drive him away, if I am incapable or unworthy of the person who reminds me I am more than my awful father's obedient son, then how can I be sure I _am_?"

"I sent a courier to inform my parents of our wedding," Bernadetta says, "and told him to dispose of any response rather than deliver it to me, because I knew he would say something like marrying you is the only smart choice I've ever made and once he approves the whole thing will be tainted. Hubert scans any letters that come from him for important information and then throws them in the fire. I'm so much better than I used to be but I don't know what I'd do if he said he was proud of me and it made me feel good."

"Do you hear his voice in your head as if it is your own?"

"I used to hear his voice instead of my own," she says. "I had to figure out how to hear myself first, and now sometimes - he's there, but when he tells me the things I want are wrong, I know it's just him."

"And he is a fool," Ferdinand says. "If I go talk to Hubert, and only make things worse..."

"Then I'll talk to him," she promises. "And then I'll tell you it's not Hubert that makes you a better person than your father, as many times as you need to hear it. He might approve of some of the choices you've made, but that's not the same as the person you are."

Ferdinand smiles and kisses her palm again. "I love you," he says, because he does, so much it overwhelms him, and because the way she smiles every time he says it sets his heart to beating right out of his chest. "You can go back to sleep."

Bernadetta laughs as he slips out of bed, because the idea she might sleep while worrying about the two of them is an absurd one, and Ferdinand allows the music of her laugh to lead him through getting dressed and setting out into the cold night. At home there are only a few places Hubert might be - his office, his quarters, or Edelgard's grave - so Ferdinand heads for Byleth's office first, as the closest equivalent. Hubert is at the desk, chin in hand, staring off into space; he has not even bothered to get his papers out to create the illusion of work.

"Are you working on something important?" Ferdinand asks anyway. If Hubert is surprised Ferdinand is the one who has come to fetch him, he does not show it. 

"Not especially."

"Will you take a walk with me, then?"

Hubert nods, and rises, and the two of them set off around the courtyard, walking in silence in the late night chill. Ferdinand had no destination in mind but Hubert seems to be walking with some purpose, and soon enough they are ascending the - well, presumably not the "Goddess" tower anymore, though Ferdinand has not thought to ask Byleth if there is a better name he is hoping new students use. Ferdinand follows Hubert up and up, to what he should have guessed is Hubert's favorite place here; he likes to know everything that is going on, to have as much information as possible, of course the highest point with the best view is where he wishes to be.

It is a beautiful night, just cold enough to remind Ferdinand he is alive, so clear he can see the stars stretching out into eternity. Hubert seems content to simply stand and look, for now, just close enough their shoulders are touching and Ferdinand can feel the cadence of his breathing, can know he is there without even looking. He loses track of how long they are silent, takes the time to remind himself how the constellations look from here, just different enough from the sky above the palace he cannot mistake this for home.

"I don't believe in ghosts," Hubert says, while Ferdinand's eyes are tracing the points of one of his favorites, a pegasus racing through the night. Ferdinand turns away from the stars to study Hubert's profile, his crooked nose, the bags under his eyes, the slightest stoop to his shoulders. 

"But?"

"But I hate being back here. It's so - it's too quiet. I thought I might - I'm already used to the palace without her there," Hubert says. "I no longer turn corners and expect to see her, it isn't strange anymore to walk past her room and see it barred. But here..."

"Would it be easier, if you did believe in ghosts?"

Hubert sighs. "If I truly thought I might see her, this disappointment would make sense. There was no reason for me to go to our classroom this morning, but I did, and nothing happened, and it wasn't until nothing happened I realized I had been expecting something."

"That seems natural," Ferdinand says. "You are a man of reason, but there is no reason in grief. If you behave like a man grieving but judge yourself against your normal, rational behavior, of course you come up short."

"Hm," Hubert says. "Surprisingly insightful."

"Surprising?"

Hubert laughs. "Being back here makes it hard to give you a real compliment, I suppose. Just ignore the backhanded part."

"I understand how difficult this is for you, Hubert," Ferdinand says, and reaches for his hand. He is a little surprised Hubert actually takes it, considering he often pulls away when he is feeling especially vulnerable; maybe someday Ferdinand will be as used to Hubert welcoming his affection as he has become to receiving Hubert's genuine praise. "And I do appreciate you putting up with it for Bernadetta. For us."

"It isn't entirely selfless," Hubert says. "Planning this meant being able to talk about the big ceremony without working around Bernadetta's panics, and I knew you'd want to come out here and check on your first reformed school, so doing it here meant I wouldn't have to find us time for two trips."

"Of course," Ferdinand says. "Not to worry, I have no intention of telling anyone how thoughtful you are, so your excuses are wasted."

"Good," Hubert says, and uses his hold on Ferdinand's hand to pull him in closer until they are tucked together and Hubert's long arms are wrapped around him. "But you understand, then, if I planned all this entirely to make the two of you happy, why I would hide myself away when my mood turned sour?"

"Of course. However, and I do hate to be the one to tell you this, your plan has one fatal flaw."

"Oh?"

"We are happiest with you," Ferdinand says, nuzzling his face into Hubert's hair because it is...a difficult thing to say so plainly, and impossible if he gives in to the urge to look at Hubert's face. "You cannot plan our happiness and then step away, because once we look around and see you missing we know we _could_ be happier, and set aside all else to find you."

Hubert just grumbles in response; it's quite a victory to leave him speechless, and Ferdinand grins into his hair. It smells good, faintly like some oil Bernadetta picked out for him but mostly like sweat and Hubert. He presses a kiss to the pale skin behind Hubert's ear, and to his neck, tries to make his feelings as clear as he can without saying more that might overwhelm him. Overwhelm them both, truly.

"I don't love lightly," Hubert says. "I don't do _anything_ lightly, and it - I thought, for some time, I could have my feelings for Bernadetta, and for you, as something small and easy, a comfort, but that was only because - Edelgard is gone, and everything I gave her my whole life has come loose, needs to attach itself to something, and it's _you_ , but I don't know if I can do it again, I don't know if I can - flames, Ferdinand, losing her nearly killed me."

"You will not lose us," Ferdinand says.

"That's not a promise you can make," Hubert says, "and it's not what I mean, anyway. I don't want - I can't be someone you have to worry about, and chase after, and keep a careful eye on. I don't want Bernadetta making rules about how I spend my time because she's afraid of what will happen to me if she doesn't, I don't want you to have to track me down in the dead of night because I can't relax. I don't want to be a _burden_ , but it seems I can't help myself."

Ferdinand straightens up to look at him, though Hubert only meets his eyes for a moment before looking away. "You are not a burden."

"Don't patronize me."

"You know about Bernadetta's nightmares," Ferdinand says. "They are better than they used to be, with you to help me hold her; I imagine she must feel safer even in sleep when she is protected on all sides. But she does not sleep after one wakes her, and I do not sleep well without someone in bed. I have tracked her all over the thrice-damned palace just to avoid lying alone in bed not resting; one night I only found her because I paused to fetch a coat and she was sitting in the wardrobe. Do you think I find her burdensome? Because that could not be farther from the truth. I find her presence a comfort and I choose to seek it out.

"And Bernadetta - she is still unused to being listened to, I think. When she tells one of us we should take the day off because we are making ourselves sick, or that we need to take a break because we have given ourselves headaches, or we must have dinner because we have skipped every other meal - have you noticed how surprised she looks, when we agree? And how pleased? I may be wrong but I do not think she is nagging out of a sense of duty or a fear we will be lost without her, but because worrying is how she loves and turning it into requests allows us to love her back."

"I suppose that makes sense, I just - oh, Ferdie, I'm so tired," he says, and finally meets Ferdinand's eyes. The exhaustion in them, the despair, the longing, hit Ferdinand like a punch to the gut, harder than the nickname he so rarely uses. To be given the gift of Hubert without any of his masks in place is a rare gift but oh, to see how much suffering he has entirely ignored in the man he loves cuts more deeply than any wound he took in the war. But he knows now, and he will fix this, he and Bernadetta.

"Then come to bed," Ferdinand says; Hubert nods, and lets Ferdinand lead him through the dark halls and courtyards of their former home, until they reach the dormitory, and Bernadetta, and rest.

-

Byleth holds a leather folio stuffed with loose-leaf handwritten pages rather than the sort of well-worn tome heavy with millennia of history Ferdinand is accustomed to seeing at weddings. From here, Ferdinand can see some of Byleth's messy scrawl in black ink, interspersed with Linhardt's neat cursive in green. Not only a celebration of love, this wedding is a labor of it as well, no doubt of late nights with heads tilted together as Linhardt crossed things out as quickly as Byleth could write them. 

"For what I hope are obvious reasons," Byleth says, "I was asked not to use the traditional Church of Seiros ceremony, or to consult the former archbishop's work. But I expect anyone who could look at these two and believe their love is not divinely ordained might also walk into the woods and tell the flowering vine that hangs overhead and the sturdy tree that supports it they have only come together by coincidence. Everyone here has had the privilege - and at times, the great annoyance - of seeing them become the people they are separately, and then together, and everyone here will get to see who they become next, as a unit. 

"Normally, they would repeat the vows as written here, but since this is a unique circumstance and they'll be repeating these vows in front of most of the world next week, I asked if they would like to say something a little more personal today. Ferdinand?"

Ferdinand takes a deep breath and looks at Hubert, tall and striking in the back row; Hubert, who has had to listen to every iteration of what Ferdinand is about to say, over and over, and every reassurance Ferdinand feels just the same for Hubert and would marry him if he could, has rolled his eyes at least one thousand times at a pacing, fretting Ferdinand. Hubert nods, as if Ferdinand needs permission to begin, and Ferdinand turns his attention back to the lovely woman before him, in her simple white dress and circlet of flowers to stand in for the golden one she will receive next weekend.

"Bernadetta, I take you to be my wife, and I pledge to you my faith, my loyalty, to share in the fruits of my labor and to always help you with yours. Neither sickness nor health, war nor peace, bad times nor good, can take me from you; I will stand by your side for better or worse, you will face nothing alone so long as I live. I take you as mine but more than that I promise to be yours, with all the fullness of my being, until the end."

Byleth smiles at Ferdinand and turns to Bernadetta, whose eyes are full of tears, whose cheeks are pink, who looks lovelier than Ferdinand has ever seen her.

"I, uh," she says, and goes even pinker, squeezes her eyes shut so her tears spill over and run down her cheeks. She looks at Byleth, and the small barely-a-crowd of their friends, and then at Ferdinand, helpless. "I - oh, I didn't write it down."

"Darling," he says, tries to make it as warm and reassuring as possible so as not to add to her worry. He glances to the side to meet Hubert's eyes, smiles wider when he sees Hubert's soft smile, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes.

"I'm sorry!"

"This is just for you two, Bernadetta," Byleth says. "You can say as much or as little as you want."

Bernadetta nods, and Ferdinand watches her transform into determined, brave Bernadetta, the one he recognizes more from battlefields than anywhere else but whom he loves as much as any other version of her. She glances at Hubert, too, and Ferdinand does her the favor of not looking, not trying to interpret what silent messages are passing between them.

"I love you," she says. "Obviously. It's funny, I - I could have blamed you once, for a lot. If you hadn't told your father you wouldn't marry me, I - oh, okay, no, not the time, Bernie. What I mean is, it would have been easy for you to make me less scared when you're around, to make me feel safe with you, to be the only person I really trusted. And I might have loved you anyway! But you helped me be someone who could love anybody, who could be safe anywhere, so I could choose to be anywhere else. And now that I know I could be anywhere else I don't _want_ to be anywhere else, I just want to be wherever you are. And I want to marry you now, and next week, and as many times as I have to in front of as many people as I have to!"

Ferdinand squeezes her hands so tightly he can see her knuckles going white, but she is beaming at him and does not complain, just squeezes him right back. He wants to - oh, so much, wants to sing, to shout, to jump up and down, take her into his arms and swing her in circles until they fall to the floor, dizzy. She is so - Bernadetta is affectionate, certainly, he has never for a moment wondered about her feelings, worried her trouble expressing herself meant there was nothing to express, and she has more than once quietly passed him a note written so sweetly it made him want to cry, but this! Bernadetta letting herself get carried away, as she sometimes does when she feels comfortable, but about him, so fervently, in front of an audience, oh, Ferdinand loves her. She laughs, and pulls one of her hands away from his to reach up and wipe a tear from his cheek. 

"I have your rings," Byleth says, and Ferdinand takes them, hands the larger one to Bernadetta, while Byleth recites the words he is to repeat. 

"With this ring I wed you, with my self I honor you, and with all my worldly goods I endow you," Ferdinand says, and slides the ring onto Bernadetta's finger where it belongs. His hand is steady right up until the moment Bernadetta repeats the vow, but it trembles a little when she takes it in her own, not from nerves but from anticipation. The gold band fits perfectly, and though he cannot possibly actually feel the engraved inscription on the inside he tells himself there is a little shadow of it against his skin, ready to form an imprint over the course of the rest of his life. His life with Bernadetta - and with Hubert, of course, and at the thought he glances to the side, to see Hubert smiling, and his heart thuds a shaky rhythm against the box in his breast pocket.

Byleth takes their hands and gives both a squeeze. "And now that this union is formed, let it never be broken."

As soon as Byleth has put Bernadetta's hand in his, Ferdinand ducks his head to kiss her, though there might have been more Byleth was supposed to say. He does not care, he cannot wait another second. Bernadetta is smiling but so is he, so they are equally to blame for the awkwardness of the kiss. There is applause, and Ferdinand half expects Bernadetta to pull away and hide her face but she just throws her arms around his neck. Dizzy with delight, he hoists her up so she can wrap her legs around his middle, and carries her away down the makeshift aisle to the quiet room just down the hall.

"Put me down," she says, laughing, and though there is no feeling better than Bernadetta in his arms he listens to her and sets her down. He kisses her again, still laughing, and that is how Hubert finds them when he comes to lean against the doorway.

"Don't do that next weekend," he says, but he is so - oh, happy looks so odd on Hubert, but so good. 

"I will do my best," Ferdinand says, and reaches out to draw him into the room for his own kiss. 

"I can't believe I forgot my - oh, Bernie, who forgets their _vows_?"

Hubert pulls away and smiles down at her. "No one, because everyone else has always just repeated the traditional ones. It's alright, Bernadetta, it was sweet."

"You think?"

"Dorothea cried," he says, and leans down to kiss her. A wise move, cutting off an anxiety spiral about upsetting Dorothea before it can start. Hubert knows her so well, cares for her so well, is so good to her. To them both.

Ferdinand slips the small box from his breast pocket, and clears his throat; Hubert turns to face him and raises an eyebrow. 

"I am not a jealous man," Ferdinand says, "but it has always bothered me you only wear Bernadetta's colors when in truth you belong to both of us."

He expects a protest - Hubert _belongs to_ no one, a poor choice of words - but none comes, so he simply hands the box over. His hands are shaking a little, so little he only notices when he sees the box moving, like when he placed Bernadetta's ring on her finger mere moments before. Ferdinand is unaccustomed to nerves but this is as good a reason as any to be overcome. Ferdinand most prefers to offer his feelings just like this, in gifts and gestures, in encouragement and smiles, and this should all be easy but the formality of it throws him off-balance.

Hubert opens the box and stares at its contents silently. A badge rests on black velvet, a shield emblazoned with the eagle of the Adrestian crest, a dagger behind it. A glass circle that will open up so one of Bernadetta's flowers can be placed inside, protected from wear so she has to remake them less often. It is simpler than Ferdinand's initial vision, but more ostentatious than Hubert generally prefers. Bernadetta smiles up at Ferdinand, encouraging, as Hubert continues not to react.

"If it is not to your liking, we can - "

"No," Hubert says. "It's - when did you have this made?"

"You're not the only sneaky one," Bernadetta says. He allows her to remove the flower pinned to his cloak so she can place it into its protective glass circle, his eyes following the badge the whole time. Bernadetta hands it to Ferdinand, who steps forward to pin it in place over Hubert's rapidly beating heart. 

"I will always," Hubert says, and falters, shakes his head. "This isn't necessary."

"We thought a ring would raise questions," Ferdinand says.

"That's not what I meant."

"I know," Ferdinand says, and kisses him. It is as if Hubert is a puppet whose strings have been cut; he ceases holding up his own weight, and sags into Ferdinand. Ferdinand raises his hands to cup Hubert's face, hold him close, and kisses him more deeply. Bernadetta steps closer, leans into them both, and then pushes, and then pushes harder, laughing, until Ferdinand pulls away and she can squirm in to kiss Hubert herself. 

"I - " Hubert says, when she finally lets him pull away, but he seems to have no idea what to say next, eyes darting between them somewhat anxiously.

"We have a party to get to," Bernadetta says, and slips her hand into Hubert's. "Unless you need a little more time."

"All the time in the world wouldn't be enough," Hubert says, and kisses her hand before placing it in Ferdinand's so the newly married couple can walk into the hall together, with Hubert right behind them, falling into step with them as always.

-

There is a chair in the corner, large and plush and covered with soft pillows, that Hubert had brought down from Byleth and Linhardt's quarters for Bernadetta, but the party has been going for some time and she has yet to escape to it. At the moment she is dancing, allowing Petra to swing her about the floor with some force, doing her best to keep up without knowing the steps. She is laughing, glowing with it, cheeks pink with joy and exertion and flower crown askew. They will need to send someone to Brigid soon, to sign some documents and make their informal treaties formal; Bernadetta might like to see Brigid again. Hubert will know how to ask her to do it, how to tease out a yes if she truly wishes to go but is afraid. 

It was almost ten years ago Ferdinand looked across this very hall to see Bernadetta, hair done as it so rarely was back then and a flower tucked behind her ear, looking for all the world like she was being tortured while Dorothea touched up her lipstick. In the moment he was certain all he felt was a duty - a desire - to rescue her, as any dashing hero would, though in hindsight it was not so very long after that he began thinking about the marriage arrangement he had refused, the life he could have had, if only he had known.

Far from rescuing her, of course, he had only scared her away, and had to have Hubert make sure she was not too upset, that she got back to her room alright. Hubert has never been very far from his attempts to court Bernadetta, even long before any of them knew what that meant.

And Hubert is still not very far, leaning against a wall near the food, drink in hand, chatting with Dorothea, their heads tilted together so they can hear above the music. Dorothea looks better every time Ferdinand sees her, more like her old self by leaps and bounds, and as far as he can tell she has not been plagued by the same melancholy that struck Hubert upon arriving here. But she understands him well, knows his grief better than anyone, and Ferdinand can almost see the weight lifting from Hubert's shoulders as they talk. His new badge gleams on his chest, a truly striking piece, and Ferdinand cannot help but smile to look at him.

A week from now, Ferdinand will be in the ballroom of the Imperial Palace, likely keeping a careful hand at the small of Bernadetta's back to steady her in what is sure to be an overwhelming crowd. Hubert will no doubt be prowling around the edges of the room, checking in with his various contacts, ensuring nothing goes awry, and if anyone approaches him for a dance he will - politely, depending on their importance - decline. But he will be wearing his badge, the same gleaming gold as Ferdinand and Bernadetta's rings, and he will join Ferdinand later in soothing Bernadetta's anxiety, in rewarding her for getting through it, in celebrating the love they all managed to find in each other. It will be good, but it will not be even close to perfect.

That is what today is for, and as Ferdinand sets his glass down and goes to claim one or more of his loves for a dance, he can feel nothing but pleased with the result.

**Author's Note:**

> please come have ot3 feelings with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/funnwhimsy) or [tumblr](https://funandwhimsy.tumblr.com/)


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